Dark Cloud on the Horizon
by MK-ONE
Summary: Harry is pissed off and had enough after the events of Sirius' demise at the end of Harry's fifth year. Gritty and nasty, take no prisoners -Potter.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter characters.

**A Dark Cloud on the Horizon**

**Chapter One: I don't take shit from anyone**

_Who am I to question why? Mine is but to do and make others die!_

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm tired of jumping out from the pan and into the fire. I'm sick of getting my ass kicked around every corner. I'm sick of licking my wounds and then turning the other cheek so I can get bloodied again."

"But what can we do?" Ron shrugged helplessly; the others in the train car nodding along with his stance.

"We can take the fight back to the enemy." Harry answered coolly.

"But that's for the Order to…" Hermione began to argue before Harry cut her off.

"Fuck the Order of the idiot!" Harry barked venomously, surprising the others.

"But Dumbledore knows best. He says we should…"

"That's the very idiot I was talking about…Fuck him too."

The rest of the Ministry Six paled at the vehemence of Harry rebuttal, though most chalked it up to their friend having so recently lost his Godfather during the skirmish with Death Eaters at the Hall of Mysteries.

"Look, I'm not asking anyone here to tag along with what I've got in mind. The rest of you have families to protect. Me,… I'm fresh out of family members to sacrifice to the cause which seems to be more of Dumbledore's cause than it is Voldemort's. I'm gonna introduce a third player into the game-ME!" Harry was so intense that his aura was beginning to manifest itself and a faint silvery glow suffused his body giving him an ethereal ghost like appearance.

"But Harry, be sensible, you can't,... none of us can even do magic yet, we're not of age?" Hermione tried to argue against the folly of Harry's intention's realizing that he was speaking more out of grief than logic just now.

For once, she couldn't have been more wrong.

"Wrong" Harry refuted. "We can't use wands yet, magic is just fine." Harry snapped his fingers and the door to their train car banged open so hard that the glass in the window pane cracked.

The others didn't have long to gap in varying stages of disbelief and awe because as fortune would have it, Draco Malfoy had picked this exact moment to make his end of the year harassment call, flanked as usual by his two goons: Crabbe and Goyle.

"You're a dead man Potty. You can't get away with landing my father in Azkaban. The Dark Lord will make sure you suffer a long time before you-Urk!"

Draco's threat was cut off midsentence by Harry's hand shooting out and clamping around his throat like a steel vice. His finger nails dug in cruelly and blood began to trickle from the broken skin as Draco blued and desperately clawed at the hand to relieve the pressure on his air way.

"See, this is the exact kind of thing I'm talking about." Harry commented pointedly, considering Draco no more than a minor nuisance, a mosquito in the greater scheme of things.

Crabbe and Goyle broke out of their initial surprise that anyone would dare to openly challenge them, especially with Voldemort now out in the open. They began to lumber forward, their meaty hands reaching toward Harry stopped several feet short as if held at bay by an invisible wall.

Harry continued to address his friends as if he were explaining why the sky is blue to a toddler. "Why do we allow ourselves to be victimized by this arrogant little shit? His immediate friends aren't powerful, stupid maybe, but not powerful. His rich father's in prison. He'll probably buy his way out, but so what? Money can't buy everything, certainly not breeding or he would have traded Draco in for a pet monkey. Isn't that right Draco?"

"Urk.., ah… gaaa!" Draco wheezed struggling pathetically for a simple hint of air.

Harry pulled his head forward and back as if it were nodding its agreement. "See, even Draco agrees with me. Let me make this simple for you before you pass out. Don't ever fuck with me and my friends again. You can think about it, but don't you do it." Harry tightened his hold and what little air Draco was able to drag into his lungs was completely cut off and his eyes bulged in terror as he realized he was about to die.

"I want you to reflect often on this particular moment, Draco, when you wake up and realize that you're still alive, but unlikely to ever father any more sub humans like yourself and your friends. I want you to think long and hard on whether or not you picked the wrong side and whether or not it was worth what it cost you." That said, Harry's knee flashed forward and sunk so deep between Draco's legs that the others in the room winced and crossed their legs uncomfortably, the ladies included.

Draco's eyes rolled up into his head and blood burst from his nostrils as a distinct, if muffled, "pop" heralded the end of Draco's line as Harry predicted. Crabbe and Goyle stood stammering, no longer in fury, but in horror as Harry flung Draco's broken body at them as if he were no more than a child's doll.

"You want the same, come find me-anytime." Harry threatened to which they both gulped nervously as they gathered up their broken friend between them and bolted away.

"See,.. this is the kind of thing I'm talking about?" Harry intoned seriously as he turned back toward his shocked to speechless friends. Disappointment clouded his features as he realized in that moment that they just weren't there yet and maybe never would be.

_I guess it's all a matter of loss? They haven't lost enough yet to see where I'm coming from._

As disappointed as he was in the knowledge that he was alone now, he was that glad for the rest of them that they still had so much to keep them grounded in some waning sense of virtue and morality.

Harry sighed. "I guess this is where we part ways. I'm really sorry for getting so many of you hurt and putting your lives at risk,… I really am. I can't ask you to follow where I'm going because where I'm going is nowhere good."

"H-Harry, I…?" Ron came out of his shocked stupor struggling to find the words that would dissuade his friend, knowing already that it was too late. Harry had that "damn the torpedoes" look he got just before he dived into something dangerous.

Harry clamped a strong hand on his friends shoulder and held his friend's worried gaze with a wistful smile of his own. "Take care of her Ron, you lucky sod."

He waved after the others asking them all to... "Take care of yourselves and each other." He was just turning to leave when he turned back to the stunned group. "Oh, and don't believe everything you'll undoubtedly read about me in the papers as I'm sure it won't be reported half as bad as the real thing." With that, Harry chuckled dryly and left the train car as it was slowing to a stop at Platform 9 ¾.

He heaved his trunk up onto his shoulder and stepped out onto the platform as the train was still slowly moving. Hedwig had already been turned loose and knew where to find him; at least she always seemed to. He knew where he was going initially, but not where he would finally land, but he was making it up as he went and had a rudimentary idea of what he needed to do and where to begin.

"Harry? Harry dear…?" Mrs. Weasley called after him but he just waved to her friendlily and kept on walking undaunted toward the barricade. He passed into the London side of the train station and was morbidly pleased to find his irritated appearing Uncle waiting impatiently for him.

With a cold smirk and a pat of reassurance to the papers front Gringotts that he had took to carrying in his front pocket, ( that officially emancipated him as part of the inclusions in Sirius' last will), Harry stepped calmly up to the walrus of a man who had tormented and bullied him from his earliest memories.

"So we're landed with you again are we? I'd hoped you'd met a sticky end what with all the trouble your kind has been causing around the country, but we can't have everything can we?" his uncle sneered cruelly.

Harry just rolled his eyes and refuted. Oh, I don't know? I've always dreamed about seeing you in excruciating pain and now I will." That said, Harry purposely dropped his heavy trunk on his uncle's feet, smashing the man's toes while trapping him in place.

"Arggg..Urk!" his uncle's initial startled painful reaction was cut short by a wet grunt of intense pain as Harry's palm slammed into the man's nose shattering it.

Uncle Vernon's hands went toward the ruin of nose that was drenching his thick mustache in blood just as Harry pulled his trunk off of the large man's feet. Vernon pitched unsteadily forward unable to break his impending fall as his hands were clamped over his nose trying to staunch the flow of blood. He needn't have worried about falling as Harry's knee came forward and settled the matter for him. Harry's knee struck just beneath his uncle's chin pitching the obese brute over backward, sending him careening into the side on his own prized sedan.

Vernon's body proved the more solid of the two as the impact buckled the rear fender damaging the highly polished steel beyond anything resembling a simple, let alone, affordable repair. Vernon flew off the car and hit face firt into the paves, breaking out several teeth.

Blood pooled from the man's ruined mouth and face, though he was gaging and flailing in misery, still conscious despite the sudden and vicious, albeit long overdue, beating he was the unfortunate recipient of.

Harry could see the man's frightened eyes glazing over in pain and committed the image to memory to warm him and harden his resolve over the long days ahead.

He ignored the shocked calls of his friends behind and hastened about his business as he was sure that Dumbledore's stooges would arrive any second to spoil his revenge and consign him to yet another endless summer of misery at the hands of his hated family.

He knelt down on one knee and hastily addressed the hateful man. "Sorry I don't have sufficient time to make a proper job of it, dear uncle. Do give my regards to my homely aunt and your ponderous offspring. Oh, and speaking of Dudley; I really can't stomach the thought of you fathering any more future horrors to plague the earth, so….?"

Harry stood back up and quickly positioned himself behind his uncle. He used his feet to swipe his uncle's legs apart to give him ready access to the target of his ire and then proved why he should be considered for the position of _striker_ on England's next world cup soccer team.

Despite his many injuries and approaching unconsciousness, Vernon came fully awake long enough to scream like the neutered pig he now was. The force of the kick sent him careening across the pavers like he was on sheer ice, rather than rough and uneven paves, to come to a groaning heap against the entry to platform 9 and ¾, effectively blocking the portal long enough for Harry to make good his escape.

"Harry…?!" a female voice gasped worriedly from behind.

He chanced a last look back toward a his friends to see a tear wrought Ginny staring forelorn and grief stricken as she was finally coming to the conclusion that he was leaving their lives-permanently. Hermione was snuffling in Ron's arms as Ron cast him a despondent look that clearly said he wished that things could go back to the way they once were. Neville held his eyes for a split second and nodded not only his understanding, but his approval of Harry decision.

_Neville always was the bravest of us all. _Harry considered for not the first time.

Luna just waved to him with a sad half smile that was wholly comprehensive as she was rarely allowed herself to be.

Harry quirked a last smile that promised mayhem in the offing, before he nodded his thankful farewell to his truest friends, hoping that not only would he one day see them again, but that they wouldn't reject what he was about to become.

A last wink and Harry disappeared into the crowed train station, leaving his trunk behind for the "Order of the Idiot's" perusal. With grim satisfaction he wondered what the esteemed headmaster would think of the parting gift he'd left for his consideration. The trunk contained nothing but his oversized stained hand me downs and tattered trainers cover with a nice pile of shit with a note that proclaimed:

Dearest Dumbledore:

I leave you with the same fond remembrance that you left me in when you dropped my ass at the Durley's. I hope you enjoy your **shitty** life as much as I did mine.

**Sincerely, Lord Harold James Potter-Black**, (didn't think I knew-huh?)

AKA: **Nut Buster Black**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter characters.

**Dark Cloud on the Horizon**

**Chapter Two: Old friends and current enemies. **

Harry shook his head dejectedly. He'd only been emancipated two days and he was anything, but free. Granted there had been a few perks, but the rat's incessant screeching was proving a high price to pay just now.

"Squeak, squeak-squeak-SQUEEEAK!"

"Well what is now, for heaven's sake? Are you hungry, is that it?" Harry groused at the desperate creature as it clawed furtively at its cage bars. It was undoubtedly seeking escape or clemency. One wasn't happening and the other was in very short supply.

Harry had spent the first day of his new found freedom moving at breakneck speed to accomplish a few short goals, managing to stay just ahead of the Order of Idiots that seemed to be closing in from all sides. Where were these vast numbers and dread tenacity when he and company were fighting for their lives at the Ministry?

He could only surmise that the proverbial… "It's _Professor_ Snape, Harry" as he was often corrected, had not passed along his message with the expedience which he was sure he'd impressed upon the good _professor _before he and company fled for their lives from Umbitch; having only to jump from the pan and into the fire.

Speaking of Umbitch; he'd read in the Prophet that the _good_ professor was recovering in the "mind damaged" ward at St. Mungo's. He was going to make it a point to bring her some lovely pink flowers and some candy… _special candy, _that clearly displayed his high regard for the kind woman.

Anyway, he'd double backed from the train station to Diagon Alley, making it to Gringott's a hair ahead of several Order members. He was safely tucked away with one of Gringott's will and trust goblins while the Order members were forced to plead and demand impotently out in the lobby as he settled his business.

He'd only just received his summons from the bank along with a copy of Sirius' will which had emancipated him and added to the wealth that he had no idea already existed. The wealth and deeds left to him from his parent's must have slipped the 'aged and all too busy' Headmaster's mind over the past five years. Hence his perpetual poverty and reliance as he'd lived with torn and ragged hand me down clothes, shoes, and broken glasses that did little if anything to aid his vision. Undoubtedly, this was just another of the headmaster's schemes designed to keep him reliant on his and the Order's benevolence, which was another nice way to say: 'kept bitch'.

Well this bitch was rapidly becoming a **bastard **as the protesting rat could well attest to, not that he had a silver paw to stand on in his own defense of unbecoming behaviors. Yes, he caught good 'ol Peter Pettigrew trailing him in animagus form when he'd left Diagon Alley. Peter was now becoming his ally and confidant, which is to say: ventilation dummy. Yes, he used Peter to vent his rage over the Rat's traitorous deeds which had directly affected his life. Sometimes that rage took on an unfortunate physical element.

Remember that mention of _not a silver paw to stand on_,.. well, he'd meant that literally. It seems Peter's silver hand doubled as a makeshift, albeit, limited wand and well, he certainly didn't want the little fiend making an escape anytime soon. At least not before they had a chance to catch up, as it were?

Anyway, a quick cutting hex to remove the offending appendage, followed by a quick cauterizing charm to seal the stump and Peter would never notice the change, right?

Wrong, he'd squealed in complaint something awful in between licking his wounds.

Harry lowered his gaze down the rat's level seemingly interested as the animagus squealed and squawked up a storm all the while holding its stump protectively to its side.

"Hmm, I'm guessing you're either hungry or you feel that you still have one too many appendages that you'd like me to relieve you of the burden of?"

That said, Harry pulled out the wand he'd had crafted after disposing of his holly and phoenix feather wand as he didn't want to run the risk of 'good old Dumbledore' finding him through some tracking charm or such that he was as yet unaware of. He lacked in experience true, but for all that he wasn't a complete imbecile and he was learning rapidly. The wand, as he saw it, was no great loss as it was useless against Voldemort anyway.

He much preferred the juniper and griffin hair wand that was crafted especially for him by a kind proprietor of one of Knockturn Alley's more unsavory businesses. He thought the original a strong and capable wand, but this? This wand fit him and his current personality to a tee, ie… it was unpredictably volatile! For now he used it for more intricate work or when he needed a lot of power in a hurry, otherwise, he practiced exclusively with wandless conjuration. He could probably take care of the Rat's limb wandlessly, but the sight of a wand in his hand seemed to really get Peter's imminent attention.

At seeing his intention, Peter scrabbled in circles trying to make of himself an impossible target. Harry merely sighed impatiently as he grabbed up the one foot square cage and shook it back and forth until Peter settled in to a state of _trauma induced_ sedation and his remaining paws splayed out from between the bars. He grabbed the rear foot opposite of the amputated pawed and pulled it out, holding it as he set the cage down and grabbed up his wand in his free hand.

Peter managed to come around in time to tug in futile on his leg and squeal in terror as Harry leveled his wand and removed the appendage with a veterinarian's skill. Rat Peter ungratefully passed out in a heap, forcing Harry to finish up on his own without any help from Peter's quarter. He cauterized the stump and used the spare time he had whilst Peter recovered to work on his plans for the removal of annoying obstacles in his life. Thinking back to his meeting at Gringott's, it seemed like only yesterday, (actually it was only yesterday), that Grimtooth, the Potter's account manager,(something else he was unaware of in that he actually had an account manager overseeing his finances), told him of his eye opening financial situation.

Now, he wasn't exactly "Bill Gates" or "oil shiek"rich, but he wasn't exactly your everyday "lottery winner" rich either. He was comfortably in between and was very relieved in the knowledge that money wouldn't be a problem for oh, say,.. a thousand years!

Briefly he wondered if his new found wealth could be adequately put to use in eliminating some of the obstacles in his life on its own merits. Say, a nice assassin for dealing with Tom and in keeping with the theme; what would it cost to have Dumbledore kidnapped and sold into white slavery? There must be some wealthy degenerate somewhere that was into fossils. Eventually he gave up on the idea as it lacked the personal touch and by that he felt it denied him the honor and privilege of a hands-on approach. Besides, it was the personal touches that meant the most when everything was said and done.

More on the subject of personal wealth; his account manager made him an appointment with the Black account manager next week to go over that estate. The wealth had been transferred into the Potter account, but apparently the Black account consisted of many lucrative investments that had remained in a suspended state during Sirius's incarceration and years on the run. As he was not legally convicted on any crime the ministry had been unable to seize,(steal), his estate, but they had tried.

Grimly his gaze returned to the rat as he fantasized over his impending use in dealing with the minister to make a return on his many generous contributions to Harry life, both directly and in Sirius' case-indirectly.

Yes, as useless as Peter inherently was, he would find some use for the traitor, even if it was only ended up as being a paper weight, which was a distinct possibility at this point.

He hated the house he was currently residing in-Grimauld Place, but it was his via Sirius's will and at least it had some perks, namely- the late Kreacher.

No, he hadn't killed the little germ. Bellatrix Lestrange had denied him the pleasure. Apparently a _proper _pureblood like Bellatrix had no more use for a traitorous elf than he did. He'd wordlessly handed the nasty little bit of navel lint a dirty sock which immediately had the useless turd leave to seek work with all things wonderful-Bellatrix Lestrange.

How did he know things hadn't worked out? Because Kreacher's useless head showed up the next day on the bannister beside all the rest of the decapitated ex-servants of the Black household. His head had an endearing note attached from Bellatrix that mentioned his _own_ head would be joining Kreacher's in future. Now, admittedly he had no great love for Bella and since she was so very proper a pure blood; arrogant in displaying her disdain for his newly appointed headship that he felt it inherent to reel her in as any proper Black would do.

Thus, with pen in hand he took a few minutes to send off a letter to Fierce Claw, the Black family account manager. His missive contained directions for absolving the Lestrange marriage with an affidavit for default of the bride price as she clearly did not and would not behave as a proper pure blood as she had displayed the audacity of threatening her head of house as evidenced by the note she had written stating as such, which he included along with his correspondence. She was also hereby disowned by the Black Family making her essentially nameless in the eyes of wizarding law- the lowest of the low. Along with those instructions he readopted Andromeda Tonks into the Black Family along with her daughter Nymohadora, in keeping with Siirus' wishes. Theodore Tonk's was provided a hundred thousand galleons- bride price,(interestingly enough that was the same amount that Lestrange had been bribed with to take Bellatrix off the family's hands). Both Andromeda and Nymphadora were bequeathed an additional hundred thousand galleons each as members in good standing of the Black Family. Remus Lupin was also granted the sum of two hundred and fifty thousand galleons. Sirius had suggestefd a hundred thousand, but Remus, (while Dumbledore's stooge), was still a good man and wholly undeserving of the hardships that society's bigotries had heaped upon him. Harry wished to see to it that he never wanted again, besides, Remus would only know that the money was from Sirius and he couldn't very well give it back.

The rest of the Ministry Six were set up with fifty thousand galleons a piece in their own vaults, placed in trust wherein they could withdraw the sum of five-thousand galleons a year until of age, then the . bulk was at their disposal. He doubted Neville needed the funds, but, it would go a long way toward establishing a top rate green house for him to enjoy his hobby. The rest of the Weasley's got a twenty five thousand a piece with a two hundred thousand allotment transferred into Molly and Arthur's account. They two had the means they so fervently deserved.

Sirius had told him to spend the money as he liked, but asked for him to remember their friends in doing so, and he was doing just that.

It felt good to be finally able to give something back. In keeping with those thoughts; Peter had begun to stir.

The rat had no sooner regained conscious awareness before squealing up a storm. Harry could only assume it was due to post-operative pain? Being the conscience individual that he was he offered the little traitor some measure of pain relief: He shook the cage, bouncing the rodent's head off the bars until he was knocked unconscious.

He was nothing if not humane. With distractions removed, he finished his note and called for "Hedwig?"

The snowy owl fluttered into the room and landed gently on his outstretched arm. "There's my beautiful girl." He cooed to the bird and she puffed her feathers up proudly in acknowledgement of the compliment. Harry scratched the owl around her neck and ears eliciting a humming purr of pleasure from his familiar.

"Could you take a letter to the Black Family account manager: Fierce Claw, at Gringott's, please?" The intelligent bird bobbed her head in agreement and stuck out a leg, waiting patiently as he tied the note on.

"Take your time returning unless Fierce Claw has some pressing business that you need toreturn." Hedwig bobbed her head again and was about to leave when she spied the disabled rat. She cocked her head in Peter's direction and clicked her beak hungrily.

"What, you want to eat it?" Harry pulled a disgusted face. "You do know it's really a wizard and a traitorous one at that, don't you? Merlin only knows how long the diarrhea would last after eating something like that." Harry warned.

Hedwig hissed at the unconscious rat to which Harry nodded his agreement. "You're right, you can do much better, a nice frog or a marsh rat would be more palatable than that creep."

Hedwig wiped her claws in a show of disdain as she turned her back on the animagus before winging out the window.

Hedwig hadn't been gone ten minutes and he was already getting bored when the a prickling sensation alerted him that the wards had detected an intruder on the property.

The Fidelius charm had died when along with Sirius and he'd deferred toward replacing it as he wanted to get a feel for the place before he made any drastic changes. That wasn't to say that he hadn't taken over the existing ward scheme as Head of House.

"Walburta dear, who is calling this fine day?" he graciously asked the painting of Sirius' late mother. They'd reached an understanding just after he'd dismissed Kreacher. She didn't yell and scream fit to wake the dead and he wouldn't use paint thinner to remove her mouth. Furthermore; if she were a good painting and utilized her knowledge of the property's wards for security and her knowledge of magic and the Black estate in an advisory role; not only would she be treated appreciatively, but he wouldn't be so inclined as to paint her into a clown suit complete with balloons and a pink pony.

She'd proven herself a most competent ally after that.

"It's the Hairy Headmaster and his Order flunkies, Master Harold." The painting replied formally.

He eyed the painting, displaying his annoyance for his given name, to which Walburta merely curtsied appearing more sarcastic than contrite. "It looks like he's having Moody scan the house with that creepy eye of his." She conjectured.

"Is he in there, Alastor?" Dumbledore asked hopefully.

"He is" Moody answered, before snorting a laugh.

"What is it?" Dumbledore foolishly asked his friend.

"He's sending us a message. I believe muggles call it 'giving us the bird'."

Dumbledore sighed wearily.

Moody nodded his head as if answering a question.

"What's this?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

"The lad's holding up a sign that asked if you got his message?" Moody began laughing at the disgusted face Dumbledore pulled in consideration of the 'pile of shite' Harry had left for his perusal.

"This is ridiculous." The old man scoffed at the house. "Couldn't we please just sit down and talk out our differences civilly?" Dumbledore pleaded with the house, suspecting that Harry could hear him after a fashion.

"He wants to talk to you civilly." Walburta snorted appreciatively, feeling she had a grasp for what her head's response might be.

"Alright." Harry acknowledged.

"You will?" Walburta shot back aghast at the idea.

"Sure." Harry reiterated walking into the other room with a gleam in his eye that would give a dementor pause.

Harry opened the window of the study and called down to the small gathering outside. "A'looo"

"Harry,… it's good to see you well. "Dumbledore fawned in apparent relief. "Please, Harry, we need to talk. Surely you must realize the terrible danger you are in being out in the open like this without the protection of your blood relatives or even so much as a fidelius charm at the least?" Dumbledore beseeched the young man.

"Y-You're worried about me?" Harry stammered hopefully.

"Of course I am." Dumbledore returned in his best 'caring grandfather' tone of voice. "I've only ever concerned myself with your personal safety, while admittedly those measures seemed harsh,… I assure you I have only ever had your best interests at heart-'for the greater good'." The old man pleaded understanding, while at the same time avoided apologizing by offering vague excuses in the name of safety, as if that forgave everything.

"Oh, um sure I , er guess." Harry seemed to meekly accept the man's excuses.

"Couldn't we please sit down comfortably and talk out what's troubling you? I'm sure we could reach an agreement that would satisfy everyone concerned." Dumbledore hedged his bets.

"Sure." Harry readily accepted. The door's open anyway, all you had to do was come in."

Dumbledore goggled at that and made a bee line for the door before Moody could warn him.

""Walburta, Dumbledore defense one-pronto." Harry ordered the house calmly. Dumbledore had just wrenched open the front door before a bucket appeared overhead that doused his spirits and the door pulled out of his grasp, slamming shut and locking in his face.

"Har-Har-Har" Harry guffawed at the Headmaster's sodden predicament.

"Really, Harry? Such juvenile antics as a bucket of water over the door" The old man complained in wan disappointment as he pulled his wand and cast a drying charm over himself that failed to dry his clothes.

"What sort of amateur do you take me for?" Harry scoffed at that as he ventured. "That was hardly ordinary water. I took the time and consideration to not only learn a permanent _anti-drying charm,_ but also to fill an entire bucket of piss for yours truly. Unlike you, I'm all about taking into account the details in serving the interest of the 'greater good'." Harry broke down in tears of laughter as the man pulled at his drenched clothes, sniffing inquisitively and wincing at his findings while Moody and his comrades laughed at his misfortune.


	3. Chapter 3: The bookend

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter characters.

**Dark cloud on the horizon**

**Chapter Three: The Bookend**

I thought about using Fudge's office, but I figured this particular _bookend_ would just get misplaced or would roll away during one of Fudge's many fits of incompetence. No, the place for "ball", as I like to refer to it, is Madam Bones' office. There's a lady I can get into and by that I mean I like the way she takes care of things.

_Hmm, that doesn't sound right either._

Anyway, she'll take care of my "ball" good and proper like she does everyone else's balls.

_Yikes, what am I thinking? She's old enough to be my grandmother and I'm thinking in ways that are quite frankly disturbing in their connotations to sexual undertones._

_I.. hell, I can't win at this rate_. I roll my project through the ministry during its graveyard shift and by the lack of any challenges or obstacles barring my way, I can tell that they've really vamped up security since the whole Ministry debacle that ended with Sirius being killed and Voldemort's return finally being recognized.

I can at least somewhat settle one of those score's tonight by clearing Sirius' name. One could argue, as I'm sure Dumbassdore would, that it doesn't matter anymore now that he's dead.

Well sir, it matters to me. If you haven't guessed by now, my "ball" is what I've appropriately nicknamed Peter as he no longer has any arms and legs left for me to remove. I think he's developed a touch of Munchausen, however, as he seems to be intentionally trying to piss me off knowing that he's ultimately going to suffer for it by doing so.

I'd like to continue to play with my _ball,_ but I'm afraid that too much playtime and said _ball _will deflate to the point of uselessness. As it is I have to scour my brain for ideas to keep our time together productive and interesting. Just the other day I came up with a novel idea. Taking a leaf out of the disco era's page; I painted my ball a nice reflective metallic chrome color, hung it from a mirrored ceiling on a rotating hook and hit the bugger with enough laser lights to run a satellite phone service. Now while I enjoyed the visual effects I felt something was missing so I put on a Russian disco tape and looped it to play continuously at max volume and left Peter to enjoy the ambience for a mere forty-eight hours straight. I might have overdid it a tad as he hasn't really talked in complete sentences since, has acquired a nervous tic and seems to bounce on his own now, to only a beat that he can hear.

During our time together however bittersweet, I asked Peter many questions regarding Voldemort's activities and whereabouts. He was reluctant to pass along any information at first, but overtime he saw the futility of that as what possible use would the Dark Lord have for an immobile spy. I mean, he can't hold a wand anymore, but he can still transform without a wand into his rat animagus, but what use is that really when all he can really do is roll around aimlessly a bit and soil himself.

Still, I had to give him some measure of credit for how long he was able to resist me. After the mirror ball incident he seemed angry for some reason, that and he developed a deep seeded fear for rhythmic drumming of any variety which I happened upon quite by accident when I started idly drumming my fingers on a counter top and Peter began screaming and I noted him wincing along with the beat. I tried to soothe his jangled nerves with something simple and calming so I put on a few records of children's nursery songs.

After a few hours of that a much more subdued and cooperative Peter sang information to the melody of 'I'm a little tea pot" which was all well and good only now I can't get him to stop singing it.

It's a shame really as it used to be one of my favorite songs, but now I can't even stand the thought of it let alone stomaching it in Peter's whinny falsetto; which, by the by, is probably a result of repeated kicks to his nether regions to get the _ball_ rolling from one room to the next. I swear he starts hyperventilating every time I laced up my trainers.

I left Peter, for hopefully the very last time, outside of Amelia Bones' office with a note taped to his forehead detailing his part in betraying my parents and wrongfully framing my godfather for his murder along with a list of his other misdeeds including; the wrongful death of Cedric Diggory. I also accepted complete responsibility for his current condition and cited my rightful pursuit of vengeance as head of House Black for subsequent offences against House Black, as detailed by article 87 of the code of rights and conduct for Ancient and Noble houses under wizarding law. With some noted insights passed along by Sirius' will, I've done my homework and feel that it's high time the law worked in my favor rather than to line ministry pockets with graft and allow death eaters complete autonomy. I plan to kick some serious ass and I wasn't ashamed to tell Madam Bones so in no uncertain terms. For good measure I left Peter's severed arm under a preservative charm, with his dark mark infamously displayed for all to see. I also left documented proof in the form of DNA testing by a reputable firm, with ties in both the wizarding and muggle world, that clearly states the arm belongs to Peter as it is a perfect DNA match for the rest of his still available torso.

In closing, I kindly offered my services to kick said _ball_ through the veil once thoroughly questioned under veritaserum and appropriately convicted of his heinous crimes.

"What're you doing?" Peter whined as I loomed over him with wand drawn.

"I'm casting a strong sticking charm on your fat arse to keep you from _accidentally_ rolling away before Madam Bones has had a chance to ascertain your quilt under truth serum."

"No please, I'll do anything, anything. Please, Harry,… give me a chance to redeem myself." Peter begged, his eyes filling with desperate tears.

"Redeem yourself? Peter, you can't even itch your own arse on your own, what could you possibly do for me?"

"I can't itch myself on my own because you cut both of my arms off." Peter shrieked desperately, seeking sympathy for his plight.

"Tomato- Tomatoe" Harry returned whimsically.

"Please, give me a chance? I don't want to die!" Peter pleaded, trembling in fright over his impending doom.

"Peter-Peter…Peter?" Harry sighs disappointedly, shaking his head. "Will you never learn? The bible says if thy hand offends thee cut it off. Well, as you've no hands left and it's your tongue just now that's causing me offense…?" Harry conjures a pliers for one hand and a scissors for the other and advances on Peter menacingly, intent to cut out his offending tongue.

"No…NO…Ah, Ahhhh…!" Peter screeches in dead fright before he faints dead away.

"Pity that." Harry grumbles dejectedly before shrugging and leaving Peter to his fate, but not before giving him something to remember him by. With that thought in mind, Harry conjures some steel toed boots for his feet and plants a vicious kick between the unconscious man's stumps for legs that's sure to give him a painful reminder of Harry's parting farewell gift.

They don't call him Nut Buster Black for nothing round these parts.

With his work done for the time being Harry decided to do a bit of exploring beneath his father's invisibility cloak and chanced upon the chambers of the Wizengamot, one in particular catching his immediate attention- that of the Chief Warlock.

He tried a few unlocking charms, not really expecting it to be that easy, but one never knows until one tries. Undaunted, he went the muggle route and tried the utility knife that Sirius had given him for Christmas. It's magical lockpick did the job without a hitch.

The office was richly appointed in well-polished woods and leather furniture. He briefly considered searching through Dumbass's file, but thought better of it as no matter what incriminating evidence he found; Dumbledore was sure to slip out of it as the man had scapegoats and contingencies up the wazoo. No, he thought it better to stick with the current theme as thereby Dumbledore would at least know who was being so thoughtfully thorough in trashing his offices.

Why not kill to bird's with one stone?

He'd often heard that when monkeys were particularly frustrated they tended to resort to their basic instincts ie.. ever heard of "shit fights at the zoo"?

With that in mind he conjured two bull howler monkeys with a single female to share between them. That sentiment was followed by enough water and food for only two. He'd let them work out the logistics from there.

Making sure to unlock every file cabinet and desk drawer, Harry left the three to explore, mate and squabble to their heart's content.

Laughing manically, he left in search of more victims to vent his wrath upon.


End file.
